


moonkissed and painted with snowdrops

by jenuyu



Series: I filled the garden with gold [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2020-06-27 17:37:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19795744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenuyu/pseuds/jenuyu
Summary: When Jaemin is invited to the wedding of two princes, he expects only to be there as a witness, a diplomatic envoy for his country. Nothing more, nothing less, until he chances upon a meeting with Prince Donghyuck’s best friend and advisor and everything changes.After all, Jaemin has always had a taste for beautiful things.





	1. rose and pearl

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [honeymouthed and full of wildflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19001992) by [pududoll (aprilclash)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprilclash/pseuds/pududoll). 



> “Hello, this is aprilclash/pududoll. Since I’ve started writing ‘Honeymouthed and full of wildflowers’, ao3 senior sunbaenim user jenuyu has been a constant source of support and inspiration. I don’t remember who first proposed the jaemjen side-story of Honeymouthed, but since I really had no plan to write it I was super enthusiastic about Meg taking care of it. Meg consulted me for the plot and she did her best to be 100% accurate to what I’m writing in Honeymouthed (a very difficult feat because I’m prone to change the plot every three days) so I hope you can all appreciate her efforts and her beautiful fic.” — hugo award winning author aprilclash ♡
> 
> fanart ;3;  
> (thank you!!!!! ♡♡♡)  
> \- [character design sketches](https://twitter.com/milka__smilee/status/1158067880228872192) by @milka__smilee  
> \- [jeno’s beautiful face](https://twitter.com/milka__smilee/status/1158077669742788609) by @milka__smilee

Renjun is the one who brings Jaemin the news.

Jaemin is in the libraries, a fur cloak drawn over his shoulders as he bends over some ancient writings or other. It’s spring, but he still needs the cloak to fend off the icy chill in the air. Spring is barely spring at all in the North, when winter has not yet lost its grasp on the land, when the nights are long and the days are gloomy and short. Jaemin barely spares Renjun a glance, refusing to look up from the maps until Renjun stands at his side and coughs into a fist.

“Your Highness,” Renjun says, and Jaemin continues ignoring his guard.

“The wind is loud today,” Jaemin says to no one at all. The windows are shut tight in this tower of the castle, and up here this high, it’s just the two of them. “Someone should let the masons know that a brick in the tower walls must be loose. It’s so loud.”

“Your Highness,” Renjun repeats, his voice clipped. “Are you going to continue ignoring me or are you going to act like a prince for once?”

“My, the wind surely _is_ noisy today. I wonder what’s happening outside?”

“Are you upset that I bested you in front of the knights? You did say that you would have me exiled and sent to peel potatoes for a living if I were to ever hold back against you. Do you regret that now?”

Jaemin turns to face Renjun, setting his maps and brushes aside. “No, of _course_ I don’t regret that. What use would having a bodyguard who can’t properly protect his prince be? No, I’m wondering why I’ve received the silent treatment from you for, oh, a week? Two weeks? I can barely remember your name, it’s been such a long time since I last saw you.”

The disdain dripping from Renjun’s voice is nearly palpable. “Your Highness, as much as I would love to discuss the matter of your bedding every single aristocrat to enter this castle and how much I’ve had to clean up after your messes having to convince every lord and lady that you’ll speak to them someday, I’m afraid there’s something else that’s the reason I’m here today.”

“I’m sure it couldn’t be more interesting than I am. Also, I don’t bed everyone who steps through the front gates, I’ll have you know—”

“Princess Dongsoon of the Southern Islands has presented as an Alpha.”

It takes Jaemin a few moments to remember the name, to remember the circumstances, and when the pieces click together, he sits up straight in his armchair. His mind is spinning his names and dates and betrothals, and if he remembers correctly— “Princess Dongsoon? The one who was betrothed to that— what was his name again? It’s something awfully boring, isn’t it?”

“Mark,” Renjun supplies helpfully. “It’s Mark. Minhyung, if you want to use his birth name, although no one does these days.”

“Right. Yes. Boring, just as I remembered. I thought Mark was an Alpha, though, are they going to continue with the marriage? That’s a bit strange, isn’t it?”

“No. They’ve already selected a replacement. Her twin brother, Donghyuck, presented as an Omega on the same day. He’ll be the one to marry Prince Mark in his sister’s stead.”

Jaemin leans back against the soft velvet, and he thinks about a boy with fire in his hair and the sun kissing his skin. He thinks about soft hands and biting words, and he thinks about two boys both raised to rule and one who’s had that right stripped from him. He thinks of the alliance between the Vale and the South and how they’re oh-so-terrified of Jaemin’s country, of the winter that the North brings and chokes all the life out of the land with. He thinks about how much they don’t know about him and how eager they are to create a marriage with each other just to strengthen their borders against the Empire.

“Finally,” Jaemin exhales, and he feels a smile begin to unfurl across his face. “This should be fun.”

Jaemin is summoned to the throne room the very next day. It takes him ten minutes to navigate the sprawling grounds and maze-like hallways that he calls home, and it takes him another ten minutes to wait until the guards standing in front of the throne room let him pass through the doors. When Jaemin looks up, all he sees is the vaulted ceiling, swooping high above his head and reminding him of just how small he really is in comparison to the castle he lives in. Just how small he really is in comparison to the man seated on the throne, to the Emperor of the North.

It’s so quiet that Jaemin can hear the rattles and groans of the ancient castle’s pipes all around him, and when he takes a step forward, he notices that all of the Emperor’s advisors and most loyal men are gathered here as well.

His father stands, rising from his throne and staring at Jaemin. Jaemin is fourteen again, new to the castle and all of its traditions and tales, and he almost steps backwards instinctively before he tells himself to stand his ground, to look him in the eyes and hold his head high.

“My son,” the Emperor of the North says, his booming voice echoing around the room. “It is so good to see you. Come closer, don’t be shy.”

Jaemin walks on leaden feet to the panel of advisors, and once he stands in front of his father, he ignores the other men and looks up into his eyes.

“Father,” Jaemin says, measured and even. “Was there a reason you called me here today?”

The Emperor’s smile twists, turns into something darker. For a second, Jaemin sees what some of the people see: a tyrant who cares not for the citizens of his realm, a power-hungry monster hellbent on subjugating all of the surrounding territories who stops at nothing to have his way. Then he smiles, his scarred face crinkling, and Jaemin can see his father in those eyes again. “I have a request for you, my son.”

“What is it?”

“My son, when Prince Mark of the Vale marries Prince Donghyuck of the Southern Islands in the coming month, I need you to act as a diplomatic envoy. I need you to win their trust, win their friendship, and once they are convinced that you are their friend, once they will let you into their homes and their hearts, I need you to do something for me.” The Emperor pauses, reaches forward to clap a hand on Jaemin’s shoulder. “I’ve heard rumors. People say that this marriage doesn’t seem stable at all, that it’ll crumble before they manage to produce an heir. I want you to go and see for yourself just how close they are to the truth.”

Jaemin can read between the lines. He’s spent the last five years navigating the lies and half-truths he’s constantly being told. Jaemin looks at his father, hears _you know what you have to do_ , and says, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

It takes just under two weeks to travel from the capital of the Northern Empire to the Vale, and by the time Jaemin and his entourage arrive at the palace, he’s tired to the bone. They’re immediately shown to their rooms in a suite designated for diplomatic envoys, Jaemin in the largest room and his attendants Jiin and Yoojin sharing a smaller one. He and his servants are all exhausted by the many days they have spent on the road, taking shelter wherever they can without compromising the need to get there as quickly as they can. There are only a few days left until the wedding, after all.

The morning is bright when Jaemin wakes up, sunlight streaming in through the windows, and it takes him a moment to reorient himself in the downy pillows and silk sheets. His bed at home is just as lavish, just as soft, but there’s a warmth here that he doesn’t feel when he’s in the North.

Jaemin’s first course of action is to find his attendants. Jiin is the older of the two, and she’s been with him since he was a child. He used to have a precocious crush on her back then, back when he was instantly drawn to pretty faces and pretty bodies, back when he immediately associated simple acts of kindness with love and before he realized that people could be nice to him without wanting anything in return. Those kinds of people are few and far between, but he treasures the ones he’s found like nothing else.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Jiin says when he pushes open the door to his attendants’ room. She’s sitting in front of one of the many boxes of clothes they’ve packed with them, sorting through Jaemin’s collection of royal wedding attire. Her smile is wide and infectious when she stands to bow to him, and Jaemin finds himself smiling back at her.

“Do you mind, Your Highness?” Yoojin asks, her voice still heavy with sleep as she drags the blanket over her naked chest. “Do you know how to _knock_?”

“I’m your prince, I don’t see why I should have to knock,” Jaemin says petulantly. “I’d like a bath drawn. I’ll be in my room, so let me know when you’re done. I’m going to go see the other princes today, so make sure you pick out something nice for me.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Jiin chirps, and hops out of bed. She is, Jaemin notes, significantly more clothed than Yoojin is. She touches his elbow to lead him out, throwing a comment back over her shoulder to “prepare the Prince’s outfit for today, Yoojin.” She’s met with only a very short grumble, and she smiles up at Jaemin as she closes the door behind them. “She’s just tired from all the traveling, Your Highness. Don’t take it to heart.”

Jaemin waits in his room as Jiin busies herself with preparing his bath. He doesn’t take anything Yoojin says to heart, not really. She’s always been like this, a little rough around the edges where Jiin is giving and pliant. She was first assigned to Jaemin two years after she first entered the castle under Jiin’s care, and the two of them have been inseparable ever since. He learned early on that both of them were Omegas, and he’s since grown to associate their scents with being home.

Jiin comes to fetch him before he can start thinking too deeply into the exact nature of his attendants’ relationship with one another, and it’s when she’s helping him undress that she asks, “Have you figured out what to do about Renjun’s situation yet, Your Highness?”

Jaemin shrugs, the action helping his sleep shirt fall from his shoulders. “The last time I heard from him was when we left. As far as I know, he and the others are still undergoing extra training, just as he wanted. I think Father didn’t want us to appear too imposing by bringing so many guards with me.” He gives Jiin a wan smile. “It’s a good thing you and Yoojin don’t look the part, isn’t it?”

He can’t see the expression on Jiin’s face as he turns to unbutton his pants before stepping into the perfumed water, but he would be willing to bet that it’s something like amusement playing across her lips. There’s no way that the Northern Empire would ever send their youngest prince alone without guards into what is effectively enemy territory. Even though it looks like Jaemin arrived in the Vale last night with two petite and harmless Omega servants, only the three of them know the truth: that Jiin and Yoojin are equally as dangerous as Renjun is, and that the perpetual smile on Jiin’s lips is as sharp as the knives she keeps concealed underneath her dresses and skirts.

“Thank you, Jiin. You may go, I’ll be down shortly for breakfast with you. If you wouldn’t mind, could you go and figure out the situation with the kitchens? Or if there is usually an assigned time for all guests to be served?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Jiin murmurs, and Jaemin hears the rustle of her dress as she curtseys. “Enjoy your bath, and please call out for Yoojin when you’re finished. I believe she’s chosen a suitable ensemble for today.”

“Wonderful,” Jaemin exhales, and he hears the click of the door when Jiin closes it behind her. He closes his eyes, sinks into the water until it reaches his chin, and lets his mind drift off.

He will meet with Prince Mark of the Vale of Giants and Prince Donghyuck of the Southern Islands today, and he barely has any idea of what to expect. He’s never formally met either of them— he’s only ever heard apocryphal stories about Mark, and as for his past with Donghyuck, that’s another story to unravel, and he isn’t sure that he’s ready to visit him yet. He supposes that Mark’s chambers will be his first destination.

“Don’t you think you should be a little nicer, Your Highness?” Yoojin asks cautiously, slipping the folded up piece of parchment into the folds of her skirts. Jaemin only snorts, busying himself with doodling caricatures of his least favorite royal advisers into the margins of some of the tax records he’d brought along with him.

“If he’s to be King someday, someone ought to speak to him as a peer. Anyway, whether I’m nice or not, I feel like he’ll treat me the same.” Jaemin looks up at Yoojin. “I bet he’ll be a nervous wreck. Not because of me, of course. But because of the wedding.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness, I don’t think he would be someone to easily show his emotions to you like that.”

“Of course not. A Prince who can’t pretend to love someone he isn’t attracted to isn’t deserving of the crown. If he’s anything like what I’ve heard, he’ll be the perfect gentleman,” Jaemin says. “But I suppose we’ll have to find out for ourselves, won’t we?”

The man who answers the door is unfairly handsome and unfairly tall, with a warm and inviting face and a scent that smacks Jaemin in the face with just how Alpha it is. He’d sent Yoojin to bring a message to the Prince of the Vale beforehand, one that was written on parchment and stamped with the wax seal of the Seventh Imperial Prince. It had said, in no uncertain terms, to expect a visit from Jaemin around noontime, and that Jaemin would be bringing a gift from his father.

Jaemin smiles at the man, sharp and tight-lipped and in a way that he knows doesn’t meet his eyes. “I believe I’ve asked to see Prince Mark?”

“Yes, he’s been expecting you,” the man replies. He eyes the package in Jiin’s arms. “What is that?”

“An expression of goodwill,” Jaemin says easily. “It’s a gift. Some furs from animals my father hunted and skinned himself before they were used to prepare dinner. I could open it now for you, but I think I’d prefer for the prince to open it himself. Obviously, you’re free to hold a sword to my neck and slit my throat if it ends up being anything but fur cloaks.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary if you don’t intend on starting a war, Your Imperial Highness,” the man says. “Would you like to go see the prince? He’s been waiting for you.”

“I’d love to.” Jaemin steps through the doorway before he turns to look at the man again. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Yukhei. Royal guard and advisor to the prince.” He follows Jaemin and Jiin deeper into the chambers, stopping just outside the sitting room, and Jaemin is about to ask just where the prince is and why he’s being made to wait when Prince Mark appears from a hallway. He looks—

Unassuming, is what Jaemin wants to think. Plain. Boring.

But when Jaemin looks at the man in front of him, all he can see is a Prince, one who’s about to be married off to someone he barely knows, and he feels just the slightest twinge of something like empathy for him. Because if there’s anything Jaemin knows, it’s the feeling of being relentlessly forced to do things he doesn’t want to, of being strung around and made to dance for an audience, of being nothing more than a puppet for the kingdom. He supposes that it’s just his luck that he is his father’s favorite. Enough to draw his brothers’ ire, enough to cement his position as a contender to a throne he neither cares for nor wants.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Prince Mark says, and a pleasantly perfect smile spreads across his face. Choreographed. Lasting just enough for Jaemin to see his teeth. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Prince Jaemin.”

“Likewise,” Jaemin echoes, his words falling hollowly on deaf ears. “The Empire sends its regards and well wishes for your upcoming marriage to Prince Donghyuck of the Southern Islands.”

Something flickers behind Mark’s eyes. Something that Jaemin isn’t quite sure how to parse, something that makes Mark seem just a little bit more human than Jaemin had wanted to think of him as. It’s gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, and Mark is smiling placidly at Jaemin again. Yukhei takes the package from Jiin’s hands and passes it to his prince, and Mark opens it, taking care not to rip the contents. A fur cloak bursts from the wrappings, covering Mark’s arms and spilling out onto the ground. He stares at the pelt, running his hand over the surface, before he looks back up at Jaemin.

“Thank you for your kind words and your gift, Prince Jaemin. I hope you enjoy your time here to the fullest, and please let me know if there is anything we could do for you to make your stay here better.”

“That was certainly something,” Jaemin starts, already walking briskly back down the hallways, Jiin following in his footsteps.

“Was it exactly as you expected?”

“Well, yes. Gods, they couldn’t have picked someone more unlike Donghyuck to marry him, I almost feel bad for him. For the both of them, really.”

“Why is that, Your Highness?”

“You’ll meet Donghyuck, and then you’ll know what he’s like. You’ll know.”

Jaemin rounds a corner, making his way through the palace until he reaches what he knows to be Donghyuck’s quarters, a set of suites tucked aside for the Prince of the Southern Islands and his retainers. He pauses before he reaches the entrance, already faintly aware of how the scents here are different than the ones in other areas of the castle, of how the scents drifting through the door and to his nose are more flowery, more radiant, more _enticing_ than before. When Jaemin breathes in, he can smell the summer that the Islands are known for, their warm days and their warmer nights, balmy and comfortable when two bodies are pressed tight against each other underneath the light of the moon and the stars.

He knows that Jiin can tell the difference too, and she pauses before taking her next step. “Is that—?”

“No,” Jaemin says, stilted, because he’s unsure. He doesn’t know if it’s Donghyuck’s scent that’s overpowering, heavy, cloying.

He’s never met Donghyuck before, and the only communication they’ve ever had were letters, carried by seafarers through the stormy seas and then by couriers through the plains and the mountains before they reached Jaemin. They carried on like that for years, sending each other letters that were painstakingly pored over and written with nothing but the innocence that comes with a child’s love.

The letters started out rather crude, Jaemin’s eyes being assaulted with scribblings about which types of fish Donghyuck liked best to eat and how he’d beaten his sister at a game and how his best friend was _so_ boring. Jaemin’s mother, reading over his shoulder, made a noise or two at some of Donghyuck’s choice of words and subject matter, and Jaemin supposes that someone must have suggested to whomever was handling the correspondence between the two that Donghyuck could be just a bit more _princely_. The next letter Jaemin received was what he’d been expecting from the beginning, beautiful script flowing over the page, and Jaemin had the time of his life reading Donghyuck’s letters and responding back to them.

There had been talk of a potential engagement back then, back when they thought Jaemin would present as an Omega with his wide eyes and pretty mouth, back when they thought Donghyuck would be an Alpha with all of his brash ways and big words. Then, as suddenly as the letters had started to come more frequently, they stopped. Jaemin wrote back just once after that, asking where Donghyuck went off to, but he never received a response. The engagement talks ended, and shortly after that, Jaemin presented as an Alpha.

And that was that.

“I guess we’ll find out,” is what Jaemin finally says, right before he turns and knocks on the door.

When Jaemin walks into the room, flanked by Jiin and the servant who had come to fetch them, Prince Donghyuck is reclining on a pile of cushions, his entire being redolent of luxury and opulence. Somehow, everything is all wrong. There’s tension in the way he’s laying against the pillows, each muscle coiled tight like he’s ready to flee at any moment. He looks over at Jaemin with something akin to alarm— something like fear?— before he turns to his attendant.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Prince Donghyuck asks, so hushed that Jaemin knows those words weren’t for his ears, and Jaemin has never felt such mixed emotions. He’s certain that what he’d scented before had been Donghyuck’s smell, the scent of a newly presented Omega almost irresistible to any Alpha’s nose. He’s also certain that there is no way this Donghyuck is the Donghyuck who had written to him at age twelve, with midnight-black ink and gold wax on linen parchment, if he’d ever seen a knot in real life before.

This Donghyuck isn’t the Donghyuck that he knows. The Donghyuck he knew back when they were both children would have told Jaemin to go fuck himself with the business end of a fishing spear before suggesting that they hold a summit on the nicest beaches of the Islands. The Donghyuck he knew back then would have asked if he could go with Jaemin to the woods and go riding their palace’s prize stallions until they were worn out from the exhaustion and the cold. This Donghyuck isn’t who he used to be:

Jaemin schools his expression into a mask, one of his practiced smiles. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you after all of these years, Prince Donghyuck,” Jaemin says, letting the words roll off his tongue with ease. “It’s truly such a shame I couldn’t have seen you before now, otherwise I might have been the one to stand opposite you in just a few days’ time.”

“Thank you, Prince Jaemin. Your words flatter me,” Donghyuck says, benignly, sweetly, like this is what he thinks Jaemin wanted to hear. Like this is what an Omega should say to an Alpha, what the prince of a small country should say to the prince of a large empire. “I could only hope to live up to what your expectations are.”

And Jaemin frowns. He doesn’t usually offer up advice so freely, but speaking to this Donghyuck makes him feel stifled in his own clothes, makes him feel uncomfortably aware of the role he plays in negotiations. He doesn’t like it.

“I don’t know who you are, but you’re not Donghyuck,” Jaemin says. “I can’t claim to ever know what you’re going through, but I considered you a friend when we were kids. Back then, with the letters.” He swallows the dryness in his throat. “For as long as you and I are here, I want you to know that you can talk to me. I may not be the best judgment of your character, but I know that this isn’t you.”

Donghyuck’s lips quirk into a small smile. “You’re awfully confident in yourself, aren’t you, Prince Jaemin? To offer up your kind words to anyone who needs it?”

“Not just to anyone. Another Prince, one who was on equal standing with me until just recently. You’re still the same inside though, aren’t you? Barely listened to his parents and thought little to nothing of rules?”

“I would hope so,” Donghyuck demurs, a non-answer, but it’s good enough.

“I have something. A gift,” Jaemin says, his voice even. If there’s anything he’s learned from growing up in the court of the Northern Empire, it’s that he needs to say what he needs to in front of those who need to hear it most, and this certainly counts. He reaches inside his pockets and pulls out a worn leather sheath, which he holds up and unsheathes. A dagger glints in the sunlight, burnished silver gleaming brightly and the sole sapphire at the center of the helm sparkling with blue fire. He’d brought it from his personal collection, kept it by his side during his entire journey down south, and it’s only now that he’s taking it back out. “For protection. For personal use. For you.”

Donghyuck stares at him, the expression in his eyes indiscernible, before he nods to his attendant— Jeno, was it?— and cocks his head to the dagger in one short motion. “I want you to take it.”

“Your Highness?” The boy Jeno asks, and when Donghyuck nods again, he stands and walks over to Jaemin. His head is bowed, but when he finally looks up at Jaemin, he feels— something. A frisson of excitement, a thrill running down his spine. This Jeno is dark eyes and pale skin, and it had been Jaemin’s own fault that he couldn’t see the forest for the trees when Jeno had been sitting beside Donghyuck. He’s just Jaemin’s type, just like everyone else who’s ever caught his eye.

“Here, then,” Jaemin says, passing the sheathed dagger to Jeno, and he can’t quite feel like he’s been disrespected somehow. A personal gift from the Seventh Prince of the Empire, an imperial envoy, and the Prince just shrugs it off like this? Gives it to his servant?

“Don’t be offended, please, Jaemin,” Donghyuck calls out, and both Jeno and Jaemin turn to look at him. He’s plucking a berry from the golden bowl next to him, popping it into his mouth, and his smile is like sin when he reaches under the folds of his robes to pull a small knife out. “I mean no disrespect, but I already have three. Jeno is the closest I have to a brother, and it would be an honor for him to use something of yours.”

“He really does, Your Highness,” Jeno says, addressing Jaemin this time. He looks up at Jaemin through lowered lashes, and Jaemin inhales. Besides the honey and flowers, there’s nothing. A Beta, then. He wouldn’t have expected Donghyuck to surround himself with anyone but Betas and Omegas, especially not after his presentation.

“I see,” Jaemin says, and his throat is suddenly tight. “I’ll look forward to meeting you again then, Prince Donghyuck.” He inclines his head in the general direction of the couch. Donghyuck’s posture is more relaxed now, a far cry from the tense and curled up stance he’d been in when Jaemin first entered.

“Jeno.” He holds Jeno’s gaze, steady, unblinking, and he can almost swear that Jeno smiles at him, just slightly, before ducking his head again and murmuring, “Your Highness,” and Jaemin can feel himself _burn_.

As far as royal weddings go, the one between the Prince of the Vale of the Giants and the Prince of the Southern Islands places itself firmly in the noteworthy, given how far from tradition it strays. Jaemin is given a seat with the rest of the distinguished guests, with the lords and ladies of the court. He’s just behind the section where the families of the Princes are, and he has a better view than most of the guests in attendance. Out of the corner of his eye, he can make out Jeno sitting next to the Queen of the Islands, his dark hair in stark contrast to her honeyed curls. So he isn’t just an attendant— he must be something more. A young lordling, maybe?

The sun is high in the sky when the two Princes appear, Donghyuck in sparkling gold jewelry and Mark in the valley’s characteristic deep blues. There are flowers and incense burning around them, filling the clearing with a sweet scent that masks Donghyuck’s own— no doubt to prevent everyone and anyone from knowing what exactly the Prince smells like.

Jaemin watches the ceremony with something like bored disinterest, his mind straying to some of the servant boys and stable hands he’d run into on his way to see his stallions. Some of them were attractive enough, with pleasantly calloused hands and deep voices that sent a shiver down Jaemin’s spine, and he’d only scented Alpha or Beta on them. He placed them firmly in the forefront of his mind, at least until he found his seat in the gardens and saw Jeno staring at him. Jaemin almost fell down in surprise, managing to recover before Jeno could form an even worse impression of him, and he could have sworn that he saw Jeno smile before he turned away.

There’s a sudden silence that jerks Jaemin out of his thoughts and into the present, and when Jaemin looks up at the stone altar, he sees Prince Mark pressing a kiss to the inside of Donghyuck’s wrist. It’s unconventional and unexpected, and it’s almost as if the audience recovers at once, chalking up the foregone kiss to a deliberate choice on the part of the couple. Jaemin stands when everyone else around him does, and he tosses a few gold coins and some flowers he was handed when he entered at the couple’s feet.

He doesn’t miss the way that Donghyuck jerks his wrist back and hides it within the flowing folds of his tunic.

He also doesn’t miss the way that Jeno cranes his neck back so he can look at Jaemin, then hastily turn back to clapping and shouting for the newly married couple when Jaemin locks eyes with him.

There are bad ideas, there are awful ideas, and then there are the worst ideas. Jaemin is certain that taking the single and unmated Beta attendant of the Prince of the Islands to bed may be one of the worst ideas he’s entertained in recent memory, but after seeing the way Jeno looks today, radiant and glowing in the sunlight, Jaemin knows he can’t go home anymore. Not without having him at least once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is, what i’ve been working on for quite a while ;3; it’s my great pleasure to be able to finally unveil more of cla’s honeymouthed universe, and i really truly hope that you enjoyed this~
> 
> much thanks to cla for holding my hand all this time and letting me play in her sandbox, be sure to read honeymouthed every night before bed for sweet dreams ^^
> 
> i hope to be able to have regular updates for this fic, so pls leave a kudos or a comment/[cc](http://curiouscat.me/jenuyu) letting me know what you thought!! thank you ;u;


	2. just for this moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️ IMPORTANT: PLEASE READ [HONEYMOUTHED AND FULL OF WILDFLOWERS](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19001992) BEFORE PROCEEDING WITH THIS CHAPTER! THANK YOU! ⚠️

Jaemin makes his way through the crowd, slipping through the throng of all the lords and ladies at the wedding tonight. He has already lost sight of Donghyuck and Mark, his gaze drifting away from the couple as soon as he spied one of the servant boys walking past with food piled high on a tray. Jaemin only meant to be here for appearances, to show his support for an alliance aimed at thwarting his own country’s advances— now that his job is done, he plucks a goblet of wine from a passing maid and downs half of it. It’s not the best, but it goes down easily enough, the alcohol sending fire cascading down his throat.

He goes to stand near an open window, where the cool spring air blows into the banquet hall and settles him. He’s never liked crowds, much less crowds of the sycophantic and spineless, but he’s always had to learn to dance around them, to play nicely with people who would rather see him dead. The air is thick with the scents of Alphas and Omegas, some fragrant, some revolting, but all of them an assault to Jaemin’s sensitive nose, and he would rather be anywhere else.

He slips out of the hall, finding a balcony that overlooks the valleys teeming with life below, and it doesn’t take long for him to realize that he has company. He turns when he hears a rustle behind him, and he only realizes that he’d been hoping for someone else to be there when he’s faced with both Jiin and Yoojin. They’re dressed in more formal wear than he’s used to seeing them in, and he narrows his eyes at Yoojin, who has a flute of something bubbly in her hand.

“What is that?”

“For you, Your Highness,” Yoojin says as she passes him the flute, which Jaemin only gives a narrow once-over before he tips it into his mouth. “Just what are you doing here, standing here and refusing to dance? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, where were you?” Jaemin swirls the remaining liquid around, leaning back against the balcony. He can see the guests dancing inside, the mixture of flowing silks and hewn tunics radiant in the light. “Seems a bit improper for an imperial envoy to be off on his own without his guards, doesn’t it?”

“Looking for you. You’re actually quite evasive when you want to be, Your Highness, but you’ve never been stopped from dancing with people when we’re not around,” Jiin says. “Do you have any further orders for us tonight?”

Jaemin is just about to tell her to trail him like a shadow for the rest of the night just to ensure he gets home safely after drinking himself to near death, but he spots a familiar head of hair next to one of the lords he’s already decided he dislikes. He squints at it, trying to ascertain if it’s the correct shade of black, and then he makes up his mind. He’s bored out of his mind, Donghyuck and Mark nowhere to be found, and this should at least give him a brief moment of excitement.

“No. The two of you just go and enjoy yourselves, I’m certain anyone out for my blood wouldn’t have the nerve to do it at a reception such as this.” He shoos them away, smiling brightly when Yoojin gives him a narrow stare. “Go on, you have my express permission to retire to bed early. Don’t mind any instructions my father gave you. Go on. Take some wine with you, sleep early tonight.”

Once he’s watched them disappear into the stairwell leading down to the main palace, Jaemin stands up straight, heading back into the palace and beelining straight for the lord he’s spotted earlier. He’s an irritating sort, the type who holds up council meetings between countries to offer his own unnecessary advice. Jaemin dislikes him on principle, the sole reason being that his older brothers have said only good things about this lord, and he can’t trust anyone his brothers like. And next to him is—

“Jeno,” Jaemin says, squeezing himself into the already narrow space between Jeno and the lord. He flashes them a disarming smile, just the way he’s practiced all his life. Kill them with kindness, his mom told him when he first entered the castle, and it’s worked for him for years. The lord is looking at Jaemin like he’s a bug on the sole of the lord’s shoe, and Jaemin wants so badly to tell him that he feels the same. He saw the way the lord had been looking at Jeno before, and even if Jaemin has nothing at all to do with them, there was something in the lord’s gaze that rubbed Jaemin the wrong way.

“Your Highness, what a surprise,” Jeno says, his eyes crinkling, and the lord repeats it in a mumble. Jaemin doesn’t pay him any attention.

“Your prince asked me to look for you. He said something about a missing bracelet?”

Jeno’s eyes widen, and he cranes his neck to look for Donghyuck in the crowd, looking this way and that for the high table the wedded couple are seated at before Jaemin tugs him away with a hand on his wrist. “Follow me, I’ll lead you to him.”

Jeno nearly stumbles. His steps are short and frantic, struggling to keep up with Jaemin’s pace as they weave through the crowd of lords and ladies, and his hand finds Jaemin’s as he draws closer. “What’s wrong?” Jeno asks, his voice low and harsh, and Jaemin wishes that he could hear that voice in his ears, panting something delicious instead of asking about Prince Donghyuck.

“Nothing’s wrong. Your prince is fine, I made it up. All of it. Everything about the bracelet, about asking me to find you,” Jaemin finally says once they’ve reached a quieter section of the hall, leading him towards a quiet alcove, and Jeno’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, then there’s a flash of anger in his eyes, one that Jaemin hadn’t expected at all.

“You _lied_ —”

“I apologize for lying. I’m sorry, I really am, trust me.” Jaemin puts his hands up, palms facing forward, a show of supplication and shame. Neither of which he has, really, but Jeno doesn’t need to know that. “But you looked so uncomfortable speaking to that lord, and nothing short of evoking your prince’s name would’ve gotten you away.”

“He was disgusting,” Jeno allows, his lips curling. He tucks himself against the wall, crosses his arms over his chest. “Tried to put his arm around my waist, I’ve never had to push anyone away more quickly.”

“I did you a favor, then. I’m sure Donghyuck is far too busy with his newfound husband to worry about matters like a missing bracelet.”

“Perhaps. But don’t think I’ve quite forgiven you yet, Your Highness.”

There it is again. The way he says _Your Highness_ is nothing at all like the way anyone else says it. Oh, of course there’s respect there, but it’s tinged with something else, something that makes Jaemin want to shove Jeno up against the wall and show him how to properly address him. He’s been thinking about it for days now, ever since he first met Jeno in Donghyuck’s room, and even asking one of the servant boys to come keep him company last night didn’t help matters. He’d spent last night thinking about the way Jeno’s lips shaped his title, and it wasn’t too much of a leap at all to think about the way Jeno’s lips might look around his cock.

Jaemin comes closer, leans in close enough to touch. Says, with honey dripping from his lips, “Isn’t there anything I can do to make you change your mind?”

Jeno smiles, and _oh_ , when they’re this close, Jaemin can just make out the faint sparkle of silver along Jeno’s cheekbones, over his clavicle and dipping under his tunic. They shine on his skin, silver stars glimmering in the dark, and Jaemin has the faint recollection of seeing Donghyuck with something similar, something more extravagantly golden during the wedding. Jaemin’s eyes trace down the curves of Jeno’s body, from the designs drawn into his exposed arms to the silver bangle around his ankle.

Jaemin _wants_. Wants so badly that he has half a mind to tip Jeno’s head back and mouth along his pulse, chase the frantic fluttering of his heart. Wants to leave his own marks on the pale expanse of Jeno’s skin, leave his bites and kisses where Jeno won’t be able to forget him even when they’re countries apart.

But more than anything else, Jaemin wants to strip him naked and bury himself in Jeno’s warmth, wants to hold Jeno tight and leave his knot as deeply as he can. He knows it’s something instinctual, what an Alpha wants whenever the scent of Omegas are so fragrant in the air, but Jeno is a Beta, and somehow, that makes it all the more enticing. Like forbidden fruit, like the feeling of plucking an unripe berry from its vine, sour juices running down his fingers and lips and making the scrapes and cuts from going somewhere he’s not supposed to go worth it all.

He knows, at the heart of it all, that he’s just bored. That Jeno is a warm body with warm hands to keep Jaemin company at night, a momentary distraction just like everyone else he’s taken to bed has been. That Jeno’s going to return to his islands and Jaemin’s going back to his castle once the wedding festivities are over, and the most they’ll have from now on are a shared look in between dances with other people or maybe even a night stolen away in a nameless inn somewhere. He knows this, and he knows Jeno knows this too. He’s the only son of a prominent lord, there’s no way he’s gone this long in life without learning there are some people he can’t keep.

But for now, this is what they’ll have:

Jaemin pressing Jeno against the rough stone, nudging Jeno’s legs apart with his thigh, running his hands over Jeno’s tunic. It’s soft, the material parting easily when Jaemin slips his hands underneath, and Jaemin makes a noise of discontent when he doesn’t manage to find a way to Jeno’s bare skin. There’s fabric everywhere, draped over Jeno’s shoulders and winding around his torso and cinched at his waist with the help of two leather belts, and Jaemin can barely start to follow the curves of the garment to figure out a way to get Jeno out of it.

“It’s complicated,” Jeno murmurs, his voice heavy.

“It’s too complicated,” Jaemin grumbles, picking at the sparkling pieces of stone embroidered into the fabric and glittering like pinpricks of light. He makes the mistake of looking up, and the way Jeno is looking at Jaemin sends heat pooling in his groin, insatiable, and all of his previous complaints die in his throat. “I know a place we can go. For tonight.”

And Jeno curls his fingers into Jaemin’s hair, carding his fingers through the strands, and it’s with his voice dripping like honey that he replies, “Yes.”

It’s easy enough to slip away from the party, to pretend that he’s escorting Jeno back to his own chambers, the image of a perfect gentleman. He’s sure that no one who actually matters saw them leave, absorbed as they were in their own affairs. Jaemin leads Jeno through the winding paths of the palace so quickly that Jeno stumbles again, tripping over his own feet and being saved only by the grip he has on Jaemin’s hand.

“It’s like you were raised here, why do you know this palace so well,” Jeno huffs, and Jaemin pretends not to notice the way that Jeno’s fingers twine with his. He stops in front of the royal library, turning only to give Jeno a look.

“I’ve just spent a lot of time exploring,” Jaemin says before he pushes the door open, plucking a candle from its perch and leading Jeno through the shelves upon shelves of tomes and books perched precariously on top of one another. The banquet is loud, festivities ringing throughout the air, but here in the library, it’s quiet, the sounds of the party muffled by layers and layers of stone.

“The library?”

“Like I just told you,” Jaemin starts, turning to face Jeno and the amused quirk of his lips once he’s reached the end of the hallway. He nudges at a spot in the wall behind him, and a door swings open to reveal a room within. “I’ve spent so much time looking around this place.”

The room is a small and simple one, barely with enough space for a low desk and a narrow mattress. It’s built into the walls, and Jaemin can tell that it rarely has guests over, judging by how stale the air in the room is. Jaemin walks over to the window and unlocks it, pushing it open to let the cool night air flow in before he sets the candle on the desk, and when he looks back at Jeno, Jeno is smiling, somewhat bemused.

“I’m not sure that explains how you found a secret room in the library of all places, Your Highness,” Jeno says lightly. “Especially of a palace you’ve just been in for a few days.”

Jaemin shrugs, stepping forward so he can take Jeno’s thin wrist in his hand again. He rubs his thumb along the inside of Jeno’s wrist, pressing against where he can feel Jeno’s heartbeat, and he shrugs again. “Does it matter?”

It’s not like he’s going to tell Jeno how he really found out about this place. How he met a servant boy with eyes like Jeno’s and a mouth like heaven who told him there was an abandoned study room in the library, how he took that boy up to this room and spread him out against the sheets and thought about what Jeno might look like here as well.

“No,” Jeno says, finally. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

Jeno is silent after that, the only noises he makes soft exhales of breath as Jaemin sucks at his throat, leaving a trail of reddening blotches behind. He has Jeno up against the door, letting his hands rove over the tunic Jeno is wearing, letting them uselessly try to find a way to unlace the knots Jeno’s tied into them.

“I think this is illegal,” Jaemin huffs, and Jeno laughs, a sweet sound that carries through the night air.

“Let me, Your Highness.”

Jeno’s hands are deft as they untwist and untie the multitudes of clasps and belts on his outfit, a far cry from how they had trembled just now, fumbling as they fisted into Jaemin’s outer shirt. “Actually, I,” Jeno starts, before he shakes his head.

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing, Your Highness. Nothing.” Jeno’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, but Jaemin doesn’t have the heart to argue with him, not when his tunic has fallen open, exposing toned muscles and smooth skin. Jaemin’s mouth waters as he takes in the sight of Jeno’s body, and when Jeno flushes, tries to hide himself again, Jaemin takes his wrists in hand, holding them away from covering himself.

“You’re beautiful,” Jaemin says. “Who would’ve thought.”

Jeno’s flush only deepens, the tips of his ears starting to pink in the dim candlelight. “Have you seen yourself, Your Highness?”

And Jaemin, always so quick with a smooth reply, has no words to respond with, only has an idea of what he’s going to do, what he wants to do with Jeno. He’s knocked off-kilter by Jeno, and while Jaemin’s sure he’s tumbled into bed with boys just as pretty, just as charming, there’s something about him that Jaemin can’t tear himself away from. So he snaps his attention to the matter at hand, forces himself to think about why he’d brought Jeno here tonight.

“Who designed this? I’d like to have a word with them for wasting my time when I could’ve had you like this so much earlier,” Jaemin says instead, leaning back in to kiss at Jeno’s jaw, and Jeno tilts his head up and to the side, giving Jaemin easier access to mouth at his pulse. Jaemin’s thumb rubs at the jut of Jeno’s wrist, and Jeno is the one to shift so that he can lace his fingers with Jaemin’s.

“It was— _ah_ , it was Donghyuck.”

“Donghyuck?”

Jaemin feels Jeno laugh before he hears it, the rumble in Jeno’s chest spreading through his body before it bubbles out of his mouth. “He said that I should have something so difficult to untie no one could get it off to make up for how easily they wanted him to be able to undress for his wedding night. So he ate some berries and told the maids to make this as complicated as they could.”

“That makes sense. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had an awful idea, but enough about Donghyuck.” Jaemin pulls away, walking backwards and tugging Jeno to the bed with him. Jeno goes easily enough, his fingers still intertwined with Jaemin’s, and when Jaemin’s knees hit the edge of the bed, he lets himself tumble over, falling onto the bedspread and taking Jeno with him. He smiles up at Jeno, reaching up with his other hand to cup Jeno’s face, and he watches with hungry eyes the way Jeno seems to almost unconsciously lean into his touch. “Let’s talk about us instead.”

They don’t manage to get much talking done.

Jeno’s hands are bold, unbuttoning Jaemin’s shirt and slipping it off of his shoulders, and Jaemin lets him explore, lets him run his hands over Jaemin’s chest and down his body, lets him muffle a giggle into Jaemin’s neck when he brushes against the hem of Jaemin’s pants, the fuzz on his stomach. Jeno seems content enough to just touch, pulling Jaemin’s clothes off almost reverently, skimming his fingertips across the expanse of Jaemin’s exposed skin. His skin prickles at the touch, gooseflesh on his arms from the night air and from the feeling of Jeno’s fingers on him.

And now, looking up at him like this, he looks innocent. Wide eyes taking in every reaction Jaemin’s body makes in reaction to his ministrations, pink mouth falling open when he scoots upwards to tug Jaemin’s trousers off and shuck them off to the side, tongue poking from his mouth as he settles in between Jaemin’s legs and reaches for him.

Jaemin has always been weak for a pretty face and a prettier mouth, and this boy is no exception.

After it’s over, he lets himself look back just one time, once he’s ascertained that the candle’s in a safe place and the windows aren’t letting in too much of the cold air. His heart catches in his throat. Jeno is lying in a pool of moonlight, his hair dark and fanning over his face, and he’s curled in on himself, his hand still lying where Jaemin had left it.

There are these flowers back home, back where the winters are long and cold. Jaemin used to run through the wintry snow-covered fields and point at the first blooms as they sprouted from the frozen ground, as they bloomed and unfurled their white flowers towards the earth. Jaemin thinks that Jeno reminds him of them, the first flowers to pierce the snow and herald the coming of spring.

But they only last so long. Jeno wouldn’t last a winter with him. He couldn’t.

Jaemin takes in the sight of Jeno, imprints it into his mind so he won’t forget, and he leaves him there in his memory, the boy who was moonkissed and painted with snowdrops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> waves… hello i’m back after like four months!! and if you’ve read the original work (as you should’ve!!!!) you’ll know why hahaha u_u i’m very sorry for the delay but Things Just Happened you know, and wasn’t chapter 20 Fun
> 
> many thanks to cla, who held my hand as i asked her about everything and anything under the sky (what does jaemin smell like how old are they what colors do they wear can you tell me about jeno’s childhood HOW DO I WRITE JAEMIN) and was infinitely patient with me for all these months.. this fic would literally not exist without her and i’m very happy to help present this side story ;; i think 80% of our chat just became headcanoning about this fic, so she deserves love for putting up with all of my endless needling and asking her to check over little details and facts and whatnot (and there was... a lot...... of it............)
> 
> i hope that this fic helps elucidate another side of the main plot, and if you’re caught up, you should be aware of the fact that there are Stormy Seas Ahead.. but we’ll talk about that when we get there hahaha it’s a shorter chapter this time bc i cut out a lot, but next one will be longer! please let me know your thoughts and please send some kind words cla’s way as well for working so hard on this fic! thanks ^__^


	3. borrow the moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> please note the rating bump~

Day breaks, and Jaemin wakes with the sun.

He pores over the latest news from the Empire— his father is well, his brothers are having one of their usual spats, and his mother hopes that he’s having a good time— and absently bites down on the end of a quill. It’s an unseasonably warm morning compared to how cool it had been last night, the blankets kicked off onto the ground a testament to how many times Jaemin had woken up as the sun was starting to rise and decided it was far too warm to be asleep. He makes a mental note to return them to the room he’d pilfered them from late last night to cover his own bed with before dipping the quill back into the bottle of ink.

 _Dear Mother_ , Jaemin starts, signing off with a flourish, and his mind drifts off to what he’s going to respond to her with. He could tell her about the wedding, he supposes. She likes flowers, and she’d be more than excited to hear about all of the cultivars of roses that they grow here in the Vale, so many more varieties than what the frigid soils of the mountains can support. _I am glad to hear from you—_

A knock sounds on his door.

“Your Highness, are you awake?”

Jiin.

“What is it?” Jaemin says, not bothering to raise his voice. It’s quite early in the morning, when the skies are still grey with the last tendrils of dusk, and he sees little point in speaking more loudly when they are the only two awake.

“There’s someone here. He says he’s a lord from the Islands and has something to return to you. Should I let him in?” Her voice lilts at the end, bright, curious, and Jaemin feels his heart drop to his stomach.

“I— Yes, you can let him in. Show him to the sitting room and tell him I’ll be there shortly.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

Jaemin does not look over at the mirror perched on the wall to examine the way his face looks this early in the morning. He does not reach up and run a hand through his hair, smoothing down the strands that threaten to fly away. He does not stand up and adjust the silk robe he’s been wearing to sleep so that it falls more gracefully off of his shoulders. He does not do any of this, because doing this would imply that he cares what an attendant lording of the prince thinks of him.

Jaemin steps out of the room, clothed in a robe that sits perfectly on his frame and his hair looking as impeccable as ever, and he watches as his guest crosses the room to stand in front of him.

“You said you had something to return to me?”

“Yes, I did, Your Highness.”

Jeno, standing there in the doorway with a bundle of fabric nestled in his arms, cocks his head to the side. He’s dressed in the same clothes he wore last night, the same tunic with the too-complicated knots and clasps, but he looks a bit more rumpled, just a little more disheveled this morning than he’d been at the ceremony. His makeup is smeared over his cheekbones and eyelids, and Jaemin wonders if he’d even had time to go back to his own quarters, or if he came here straight from the library. The collar of the tunic slips when he takes a step forward, and Jaemin tears his eyes away from the smooth and exposed expanse of his neck.

“I don’t remember seeing this blanket in the room last night, but I found myself alone and covered with this when I woke in the morning,” Jeno says candidly, and his face betrays nothing when he mentions how Jaemin had clearly left during the night. “It must have been something that you brought, so I wanted to return it to you. Or am I mistaken, Your Highness?”

“You’re not wrong,” Jaemin starts. He tries and fails to come up with a proper excuse, a good reason why he’d left as soon as possible, and none of the ideas in his head are enough to speak out loud. He addresses Jeno’s question instead of the one unspoken, the one that hangs in the air between them, the one that they both already know the answer to. “I was worried you might be cold, and I didn’t want to wake you. That’s all.”

Jaemin doesn’t mention how he’d peeked and peered around the halls to ensure no one was watching him slip out of the library and back to his own chambers to strip his bed naked and throw them over Jeno’s body. He couldn’t stay with Jeno, that much was obvious, but he couldn’t leave him lying there, shivering and cold without the heat emanating from Jaemin’s body to warm him up. Jiin and Yoojin were nowhere to be found, which was a blessing in disguise. There was no telling what Yoojin would have done to him if she’d seen the state Jaemin was in— flushed and pink-cheeked and smelling for all the world like an Alpha who’d just knotted someone, which he was. He knew that his attendants didn’t seem to care much about what he did at all, but the fact of the matter was that he knew they would be content to tease him about this for the rest of his life. He knows from past experiences in the castle that they have always been prone to reporting whatever they hear directly to Renjun instead of to Jaemin himself, so he can effectively count on anything that the two find out to be relayed to his guard as soon as humanly possible.

Jeno steps closer and holds out the blanket. Jaemin takes it with steady hands and a steady gaze. “If that’s all, then I should be on my way.”

There’s an undercurrent in Jeno’s voice that tells Jaemin exactly what he wants, that tells Jaemin the game he’s playing. Jaemin knows he’s not supposed to go along with it. He’s never liked to become too attached to anyone, with how fleeting the faces that pass through the castle back home are, and going to bed with someone more than once is unthinkable for him. He’s learned to make a habit of remembering faces but not names, remembering the sharp jut of hip bones over the sounds of voices. Once he places a name to a face, once something that was only supposed to last for a night stretches into weeks, then months, the relationship becomes permanent, something that Jaemin will have to answer to someday. An obligation, a duty, and Jaemin wants nothing of that sort in his life.

Still, that doesn’t excuse the way that his eyes track the movement of Jeno’s body as he turns to leave, spinning on his heels and walking with long strides to the exit. His tunic drags along the floor, with how hastily it’s been tied up, and Jaemin can’t stop the way that he follows with his eyes the pooling of the tunic around Jeno’s feet as he walks away.

This is a bad idea.

And yet—

“That won’t be all,” Jaemin hears himself say. Jeno stops in his tracks, and when he turns around to meet Jaemin’s gaze again, it’s at a leisurely pace, like he knows exactly what Jaemin is going to say. What Jaemin wants from him. He’s not used to this kind of feeling, of his intentions being seen through and his words predicted, and it sets him on edge, makes his skin crawl. He swallows anyway, swallows the lump in his throat. “I’m afraid that there’s more we need to discuss.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Last night.” Jaemin steps forward, and now that he’s closer, he can make out the outline of a bite mark etched into Jeno’s skin, peeking out above the collar of Jeno’s tunic. It’s not as tightly tied on today, and every movement Jeno makes causes the tunic to slip down his shoulders just a little bit more. They say that the wanting is greater than the having, and right now, Jaemin wants. “I want it to happen again. Don’t you?”

“I do,” Jeno says, his voice low, and Jaemin knows he isn’t imagining the way something in the air between them just _shifts_. “So much, Your Highness.”

“Tonight, then?” Jeno is close enough to touch, and Jaemin reaches out a hand, to trace his fingers along the veins on Jeno’s arm. Now that he’s seeing Jeno in the morning light, he wants him more, wants to know what Jeno is like to kiss when they both don’t taste like alcohol.

Jeno pulls away before Jaemin’s fingers make contact with his skin, drawing himself further from Jaemin, and Jaemin feels bereft, like he’s been robbed. “But do you think I’m that easy, Your Highness?”

 _Are you not?_ is on the tip of Jaemin’s tongue. After all, his first and last impression of Jeno is of someone who let Jaemin take him to bed upon what was effectively their first real meeting, of someone who whined for Jaemin to knot him when they both knew it would hurt, of someone who sighed into Jaemin’s mouth as Jaemin fucked his own come deeper inside until they were spent and sated. Jaemin wonders, idly, how many others have seen Jeno like this— if he’s made his way through the servant boys and the stable hands like Jaemin has. Wonders just how easily he’s given himself up to those beneath him in rank, or if he has a taste for dignitaries from foreign countries.

Jaemin holds his tongue, doesn’t say the words he’s thinking. It’d be beyond stupid to ruin his own chances like this, when Jeno is so eager and so willing. If there’s a game that Jeno wants to play, he’ll do it.

So he reaches for Jeno again, and Jeno doesn’t pull away this time. He cups Jeno’s chin, brushes over Jeno’s skin with the pad of his thumb. “You’re certainly easy enough on the eyes,” Jaemin says, and when that doesn’t lift the wall behind Jeno’s gaze, he relents. “I thought you wanted it to be just for that one night, but then you came here, and now you’re saying no?”

“I want to do it again,” Jeno starts. “But not like this.”

“Then what do you want?”

Jeno is quiet, and it’s clear he’s only now realizing what Jaemin already figured out that first night together. Jaemin can’t give him a relationship. They can do what couples do in the dark, but they can’t do what couples do when the sun is high in the sky and the eyes of the world are on them, and if Jeno expected something different, the fault lies with him for wanting more than Jaemin can give him.

There’s no denying that there’s chemistry between them, that much is obvious enough. It can’t be love, not this early, and it isn’t just lust, but there’s something there, a spark Jaemin had felt from the very first time he laid eyes on Jeno. He can’t forget the way it felt to sink into Jeno’s tight heat, the way their bodies fit so well together.

“You, Your Highness. I just want you,” Jeno says finally, and something unravels inside of Jaemin’s chest. He knows that this isn’t the answer Jeno wanted to give him, at least not in full, but he and Jeno both know that there’s nothing else they can do. “And whatever you’re willing to give me.”

Jaemin can settle for that. He can’t give Jeno everything, but he has always known how to work with what he’s given.

“We need to be careful, Jeno,” he cautions. “This isn’t something we can just rush into.”

Jeno stares at him, his eyes wide. “Careful?” He repeats, his tone disbelieving. “Careful, like the way we had sex in a library during Donghyuck’s wedding? Are you sure the two of us are thinking about the same night?”

“I can get someone to clean it up, and it’ll be like we were never there.”

“I can ask one of our servants to handle it. You’re the guest here, aren’t you? Besides, I was the one who—” Jeno cuts himself off and looks away before he responds again. “You shouldn’t have to.”

“I’m not doing this to make less work for your servants,” Jaemin says, not unkindly. “Even if it happened last night, the room still smells like me. The sheets still smell like me. And you—” Jaemin leans forward into Jeno’s space and inhales, deep. “You still smell like me. What would they think if you returned to your rooms with my scent all over you?”

“Would it matter, Your Highness? What my own people think?”

“It wouldn’t matter what they think, but it would matter what others will. I don’t want anything to happen that could jeopardize any of the alliances we’ve put into place. I’ll take care of it. My people know my scent, and you barely have one at all. They won’t be able to tell.”

Jeno doesn’t look convinced, so Jaemin puts a hand on his shoulder, clasps it firmly.

“It’ll be alright. No one will find out. Nothing bad is going to happen,” Jaemin says, and if he tells himself that enough times, he can start to believe it as well. “But first, I think we should clean my scent off of you.”

“Why? It’s not that strong, is it?” Jeno lifts his wrist, sniffs the inside of it. “I don’t smell it at all.”

Never mind that the scent wouldn’t be strongest on his wrist, but on the places where Jaemin marked him last night— his shoulders, the insides of his thighs, his neck. It must be because he’s an Alpha, but Jaemin can smell himself on Jeno, the scent wafting off of him in waves. He thinks, distantly, that this is the first time he’s ever done anything like this. That he’s never really stayed behind long enough to scent himself on the skin of someone he’s fucked through the night, and it’s somehow intoxicating to know that hours later, Jeno is still carrying his scent around.

“It’s strong,” Jaemin replies, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “I’m actually surprised you walked through the castle to my quarters without being noticed. It smells like I was with you the entire night, with how much you smell.”

“You left me your blanket,” Jeno reminds him, and Jaemin’s attention snaps to the bundle in his arms. “It’s not much of a surprise that I would smell like you after you gave me something filled with your scent.”

“Ah. Yes, you’re right. I’d still say that it’s not safe to walk around like this when anyone can tell you smell like me.”

Jeno blinks owlishly at him. “Are you sure that isn’t just your own nose? Wouldn’t you be able to recognize your own scent better than anyone else’s? I wouldn’t know, but do you really think people would be able to smell you on me to begin with?”

“Of course.” Jaemin narrows his eyes at Jeno. “Do you think anyone would think a Beta smells that strongly? And you haven’t even bathed, you stink of Alpha. I hope no one noticed you coming here, not if you don’t want to be the subject of the castle’s rumors.”

“Unlikely.” Jeno fingers one of the knots stitched into his tunic, probably a nervous habit of his. “Your Highness, no one is going to be paying any attention to us. Not even if I strip myself naked and run down the halls screaming, I’d only get a fraction of the eyes and ears on me.”

“And why is that?”

“Have you forgotten the reason you were ever here in the first place? Donghyuck and Prince Mark are supposed to have mated last night, and if the kingdom is lucky, they’ll have conceived an heir. No one is going to care about the actions of a prince and some lord from the Islands when everyone wants to know if the bloodline continues in nine months.” Jeno drops his fingers from his tunic to look Jaemin in the eye. “While everyone else is distracted, I think that means we have all the time and space we could ever want to ourselves, Your Highness. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Jeno’s skin is pink when he steps out of the washroom, rubbed clean with warm water, and the smells of the rose petals thrown into the bath with him follow him out. Jaemin had Yoojin run down to fetch him some boiling water, and when she returned, a knowing smirk on her face, Jaemin then told her to get to work shining all of their blades and organizing their supplies. She did so without any complaints at all, but there was still this air around her that Jaemin didn’t particularly like. He would’ve gone over to her and demanded to know just what was so funny about this entire situation, but Jeno picked that moment to open the door and announce to the world, “Could you come over here and smell me, Your Highness?”

Jaemin’s thoughts screech to a halt. His hand stills on the page of parchment he’d been poring over, wondering just what to say to his mother, and he looks up at Jeno to stare at him. “Excuse me?”

Jeno comes over, his hair still impossibly dry, only the ends of them wet and clinging to his neck. He must’ve soaked his body in the bath without bothering to rinse out his hair. Jaemin is momentarily distracted, his eyes straying to the drops of water on Jeno’s neck before Jeno leans down and puts himself bodily into Jaemin’s space.

“You said you didn’t want me to walk around the castle smelling like you. Can’t you make sure, then?”

Jeno bares his neck, and Jaemin’s gaze is drawn to how smooth and pale Jeno’s skin is. He’d been careful not to mark him there last night, conscious of any blemishes high on his neck like that would be easily visible to any onlookers. It’s tantalizing somehow, like a blank canvas just waiting to be painted and marred.

Jaemin knows he can resist this. Even from here, he can tell that no one would be able to tell that just last night, a young lord of the Islands spread his legs for one of the North’s Imperial Princes. All trace of him is gone, replaced instead by the heavy scents of roses and cotton flowers that the bath was perfumed with. That doesn’t stop him from leaning in so close that he almost touches Jeno, so close that the tip of his nose brushes against Jeno’s skin, and inhaling, deep and purposeful.

There’s nothing. Jaemin presses his nose against Jeno’s neck, curling a hand around Jeno’s wrist and tugging him closer, while he settles back against the armchair at the same time, until Jeno is nearly bent over him, his head bowed over Jaemin’s as Jaemin keeps a firm grip on his wrist.

“Your Highness?” Jeno asks, his voice breathy, and Jaemin ignores him, sniffing at Jeno’s skin. There isn’t nothing there after all— there’s something there, delicate and pale and oddly familiar, and all Jaemin wants to do is to find the source, to figure out just _what_ that scent is.

There’s a pounding behind Jaemin’s ears, one that tells him not to let go, one that tells him that this might be the sweetest thing he’s ever smelled. Jaemin knows that isn’t true. He’s been introduced to Omegas aplenty, those who were just a few days from their heat and looking to secure a match with the Emperor’s favorite son and those who were chosen from their villages by virtue of their faces to become a concubine. Their scents had been intoxicating, the kinds of scent that, once they were given a few days to truly set in, could have sent lesser Alphas into a frenzy upon the slightest whiff. Jaemin is no stranger to how good an Omega can smell, but this is the first time he’s ever found such a Beta.

“Shush,” Jaemin says, murmurs into Jeno’s skin, and Jeno does. Jaemin reaches up to cup the back of Jeno’s head, running a hand through the strands, and Jeno gasps when Jaemin shifts just slightly and sucks at his pulse before nosing just under the jut of Jeno’s jaw.

“This isn’t what I asked you to do, Your Highness.” Jeno drops his head onto Jaemin’s shoulder, settling his weight onto Jaemin’s lap. “I also just washed myself off. Are you going to take responsibility?”

“I don’t see you complaining,” Jaemin murmurs. He nips at Jeno’s neck, a tiny bite low enough on his neck that he can cover it with his clothes if he wants to. “Are you?”

“Maybe. I just don’t know if it’s fair, Your Highness.”

“What is?”

“How you’re the only one who gets to explore.” Then Jeno pulls back, steadies himself on Jaemin’s thighs. He’s a warm weight on Jaemin’s legs, and Jaemin’s hands drift to his waist. He can feel the musculature of Jeno’s body underneath the tunic Jeno is wearing, aches to have his skin on Jeno’s again. His fingers find Jaemin’s face, butterfly-soft touches drifting down to where the robe Jaemin is wearing exposes just a sliver of his chest. Jeno reaches forward, and with careful hands, he pushes Jaemin’s robe off of his shoulders.

Jaemin watches Jeno with interest as he rocks back on his heels, his index finger tapping at his lower lip. Jeno’s tunic is already messy, the fabric piled on his body in a way that was meant to be functional, not aesthetic. It makes him look younger and less stuffy, less like a lordling and more like someone Jaemin might pick up on the streets of a village somewhere. “Go ahead and touch me, if you want to so badly.”

Jeno doesn’t need to be told twice. His hands are bolder now, fingers brushing over Jaemin’s chest, circling around his nipples, pebbled in the cool morning air. They smooth over Jaemin’s stomach, dancing across the muscles there and flitting over the trail leading to his groin. Jeno leans forward, burying his face into Jaemin’s neck, and Jaemin feels him inhale, deep. There’s a curious expression on Jeno’s face when he straightens up, and Jaemin isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

“Are you trying to smell me?”

“You did it to me, I want to know what you smell like in return.” Jeno pouts just a little bit. “Maybe my nose isn’t as good as yours is, but I can’t figure it out. Do you know, Your Highness?”

Of course Jaemin knows what his own scent is. He’s spent so long scenting himself on others, on his most beloved people, and it’s laughable that Jeno could consider for a second that Jaemin wouldn’t know. He smells like wine, rich and heady and infused with the taste of the berries that grow abundantly on the mountains of his birth. His mother told him, once, that there was nothing quite like it and no one quite like him, with how alluring and warm he smelled, like the fires that beckon travelers in from the wintry nights.

“It wouldn’t be much fun at all if I just told you, would it?” Jaemin teases, and Jeno huffs his discontent. He returns to his previous task, but his fingers still once they reach the area still covered by the robe, where Jeno hasn’t gotten it off of Jaemin yet. Jaemin’s cock is half-hard, tenting in his robe and dripping through the fabric, and Jeno’s expression changes once he sees it.

“Someone’s excited to see me?” He asks, almost gleeful, and Jaemin is about to tell him to be quiet when Jeno slips off of Jaemin’s lap and settles onto the ground.

“What are you doing?”

“Shush, Your Highness,” Jeno says, clearly just repeating what Jaemin had said to him earlier, and he pushes aside Jaemin’s robe and leans forward to take Jaemin’s cock into his mouth. Jaemin groans at the contact, at the wet warmth around his cock, and he fists his fingers into Jeno’s hair, gripping it so that he can keep a firm grip on Jeno’s head, but not enough that it hurts. Jeno bobs up and down Jaemin’s cock, his hands on Jaemin’s thighs for balance and his legs spread out just enough that he can bounce as he works Jaemin’s shaft. Jaemin lets Jeno work him until he starts to get antsy, starts to feel his orgasm approaching, and he starts to fuck into Jeno’s mouth, watches his lips close around his cock whenever he thrusts in more deeply.

Jaemin doesn’t take long to come, the memory of knotting Jeno last night still unbearably fresh in his mind, and he comes into Jeno’s waiting mouth, filling Jeno’s mouth with so much that he nearly chokes on it. Jeno only sits back on his haunches, wiping his mouth clean before licking the come off of his fingers.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Jaemin asks, breathless, and Jeno wipes at his lips again.

He smiles up at Jaemin from in between Jaemin’s knees, his eyes disappearing into moons. “I’ve had a lot of practice here and there,” Jeno says, dropping his head onto Jaemin’s thigh. His hair tickles, and Jaemin resists the urge to push him away.

But still, Jeno wasn’t exaggerating. Jaemin’s body is still buzzing, his toes curled up from how good it felt to have Jeno’s lips around his cock, how well Jeno worked his cock until he came. “Do you need to—” Jaemin gestures in the direction of the washroom, his hands busy as they get his clothes back in order, knotting the robe back together again and running a hand through his hair.

“I’m alright, thank you.” Jeno picks himself up off of the ground and adjusts the tunic. In a split second, he doesn’t look like Jeno anymore, but a lord from the Southern Islands, resplendent in the tunic that drapes over his shoulders and hugs his waist. His smile is bright when he turns at the door and looks back at Jaemin. “Until next time, Your Highness?”

“Until next time,” Jaemin repeats, and when the door closes behind Jeno, he lets himself acknowledge that for once, he’s actually looking forward to this.

When Jaemin dreams, he dreams of home.

He dreams of the mountains, snow-capped and forested, and he dreams of the capital, bustling with life and with people. In his dreams, his mother and father are together and happy, two people who found each other in a world unforgiving to those without titles or land to their names. He’s a child again, running through the halls of the palace and getting lost in the maze again. The capital is too large for a small boy like him, but he has friends there, the sons and daughters of the most prominent families. Their names and faces blur into each other with time and distance, but Jaemin still remembers dragging them out from behind their fathers’ legs to play with him, to join him in discovering the secrets of the palace and getting lost among all of the history embedded within those stone walls.

In his dreams, Jaemin runs into the gardens, his friends following behind him, and they disappear into the maze of rose bushes for what feels like hours. They’re beautiful, countless blooms filling the garden with a sweet smell, and one of his friends tackles Jaemin to the ground before running away, and another one helps him up. This is the way they used to play, back before Jaemin being a prince made some of his friends draw away from him while some of his friends became overly eager to be with him.

The North is cold compared to the Vale, but it’s not continuously cloaked in winter like the mountains are. The grass is green and the skies are blue, and when Jaemin looks up at the sky above him, all he sees are the sun and the clouds, drifting wispy and soft across his field of vision. This is the way he likes it, simple and easy and all that he wants.

“Prince Jaemin!” He hears from behind him, a childish voice that hangs, frozen, in the air around them, and he turns—

And he opens his eyes to Jeno, leaning over him and shaking him.

“Prince Jaemin,” he repeats, softer this time, and he backs away as soon as he sees that Jaemin is awake, sitting back on the other side of the bed and his hands worrying at the fabric of a robe he’s stolen from Jaemin again.

Jaemin pushes himself up, running a hand through his hair, and he asks, “What time is it?”

“Not yet dawn, Your Highness,” Jeno says. “One of your servants wanted to know if you wanted breakfast.”

Jaemin blinks before he tugs the blanket back over his naked body. It must have shifted during the night, must be why he woke up feeling uncharacteristically cold, even when the heat of Jeno’s body was right beside him. “I’m fine for now. Just leave it, they’ll know.”

Jeno hums and lies back down next to him. “You can go back to sleep now if you want.”

“It’s fine. I usually wake up around this time, anyway.” Jaemin looks up at Jeno, who’s lying there with his head pillowed on his arms. “And why were you awake so early?”

“No reason,” Jeno responds, and this close, Jaemin can see himself in Jeno’s eyes. “How did you sleep last night?”

“It was good. Nothing unusual.” It always is, whenever he’s gotten to fall asleep with someone next to him. He supposes it’s a byproduct of growing up sleeping with his mother, then various bedmates, to ward off the chilling cold in the mountains, but he’s always felt more comfortable feeling the warmth of someone else’s body next to his. “Are you busy today?”

“Not particularly, Your Highness.”

Jaemin reaches up so he can wind a hand into Jeno’s hair and tug him closer, so he can curl his foot around Jeno’s ankle and slot their legs together, so he can kiss Jeno softly, sweetly, the way lovers do. “Stay with me this morning, then?”

Jeno rolls over so that he’s on top of Jaemin, and, with a hand that snakes down to Jaemin’s hip and a smile that stretches over his face, says, “As you wish, Your Highness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♡ HAPPY ♡ BIRTHDAY ♡ JENO
> 
> me, a scoundrel, updating for the first time in five months... i am still alive everyone!! ;____; i tried very hard to edit and update this in time for jeno’s birthday, so i hope you enjoyed it u___u;;;; i will respond to comments when it's all done since i have a lot of weird anxieties abt responding to comments at this moment, so please don't feel pressured to comment if you're busy!!
> 
> as always please remember to check out honeymouthed for the true Slow Burn experience and leave some nice messages for cla~

**Author's Note:**

> here it is, cla’s and my shared bread baby and what i’ve been working on for quite a while ;3; it’s my great pleasure to be able to finally unveil more of cla’s honeymouthed universe, and i really truly hope that you enjoyed this~ 
> 
> i hope to be able to have regular updates for this fic, so pls leave a kudos or a comment/[cc](http://curiouscat.me/jenuyu) letting me know what you thought!! thank you ;u;


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